


Dhyāna

by versaphile



Category: Legion (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Cuddling, David Haller POV, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Related, Episode Tag, Episode s01e08: Chapter Eight, F/M, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Intrusive Thoughts, Meditation, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Mention of canon suicide attempt, Missing Scene, Panic Attack, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 17:45:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14454510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/versaphile/pseuds/versaphile
Summary: In the aftermath of Chapter 8, David and Syd struggle with the damage the Shadow King left behind.





	Dhyāna

David's not entirely sure that he's stopped being crazy.

The Shadow King is out of his head, that much he's certain of. The absence of her, him, it -- it's not so much a missing limb as a mosaic with half the tiles picked out.

He tries not to think about the past because he can't trust anything he remembers. His dog King went everywhere with him, was a constant and concrete presence through his youngest years, but King never existed. And that's how all of his memories are: full of things that never happened, and then on top of that they've been intruded on, stomped all over, ripped apart and smashed back together again.

If we are but the sum of our memories, what is he now?

So he tries not to think about the past. But he doesn't like thinking about the future either. He doesn't know how to project himself into it, to see the possibilities when he's lived his whole life with every possibility taken away from him.

He has all this power, all this ridiculous, world-breaking power, and he can't... His mind can't wrap around the concept of _using_ it, not really.

Until a few weeks ago, he wasn't trusted with sharp objects. He wasn't allowed to choose his own clothes, his own food. He had to be scrutinized to ensure he took all his medications. Everything was decided for him at Clockworks, everything except falling in love with Syd.

And falling in love wasn't a choice, not really.

He likes thinking about Syd. He likes it so much it scares him -- when he isn't busy being scared by memories, by shadows in the corner of his vision, the corner of his mind. He's spent his entire life in a state of near-constant terror but that's how he knows the Shadow King is really, truly gone, because for the first time in his entire existence he can _breathe_.

Breathe. In, out, in. Just breathe.

He learned to meditate when he was sixteen. He can't remember the name of the therapist who taught him, but remembers an older woman, kind eyes that he resented for how closely they watched him. Even by then he was so tired of people trying to help him because they never could.

She was one of the better ones, though, because she didn't try to fix him, to change him. Instead she told him find the strength to endure his inevitable suffering. In hindsight he wonders if she was Buddhist, but as a troubled teen with a head full of voices and fear, all he cared about was finding some kind of lifeline to cling to.

He didn't need hope. Hope was poison.

Meditation helped him find a center of calm in the constant storms. Still helps him. Breathe in, breathe out, focus on a single thought, a single image. He likes to think of a mountain, solid and massive, the stars spinning overhead. Of himself entombed deep within the rock, a quiescent fossil, organic matter long since mineralized, enduring and unchanging for millions of years.

The Shadow King is gone but the damage isn't. Won't ever be. How could it? What's even left to heal?

He remembers sitting on his kitchen floor, the wreckage around him, and that's how he feels now. He doesn't know where to start or even how. Should he try to rescue something from the rubble? Glue the broken things back together? Just sweep it all into the trash and start clean? Or should he just stay put because a step in any direction will send glass shards into the soles of his feet, leave him wounded and bleeding and making an even bigger mess that someone else will have to clean up.

That was the moment that made him finally try to kill himself. He saw the full scope of the pointlessness of his existence and decided enough was enough.

He doesn't want to die now. But how to live?

He thinks of Syd and breathes in, breathes out. He left her asleep, dreaming, back inside the dormitory. He wishes he could lie beside her, tangle their limbs together and press so close there'd be no way to find where he ended and she began. He wants to live inside her like Kerry lives in Cary, only coming out for the good parts. Syd's so much stronger than he'll ever be, so much smarter, more capable. He doesn't know why she loves him, not really, but if he questions that he'll lose the last solid ground he has left to stand on, and then...

Nothing good, that's what.

Breathe in, breathe out.

The night air is sweet in Summerland, especially here by the lake. He focuses outside of himself, at the midnight chirps of insects, the rustle of small creatures in the leaf litter. The soft lapping of water against the shore, tiny waves pushed up by the bare breeze.

This place is beautiful, but sometimes it feel like just another hospital, another institution taking him in because he doesn't belong anywhere real. That finally makes sense now because he isn't even a real person. Maybe he could have been if the Shadow King had never possessed him, never hollowed him out and sucked him dry. But that's what happened. That's the truth, as much as he has one.

The most powerful mutant in the world, and he's--

Breathe in.

He breathes out a sob, swallows it. He's like a mourner at his own funeral. Here lies David Haller, parasite victim, walking husk. His self-pity only makes him angry at himself, but self-loathing is a favorite blanket to swaddle himself in.

"No," he says aloud, barely more than a whisper but it's startling in the quiet. He’s done with self-loathing, self-pity, self-everything. He’s done with himself, of the uselessness of himself, but still that's exactly where he's trapped.

He doesn't know what to do.

 _Syd_ , he thinks, reaching out, helpless in how much he needs her. He feels his call reach her, feels her wake up and shows her where he is. He holds his breath waiting as she dresses, as she finds her shoes, as she grabs a sip of water before coming out to meet him.

He could have brought her here by his power, could have brought their minds together in the white room. But that's not what he needs tonight. He's probably being selfish. He's still waiting for her to realize he's a waste of her time. He's desperate for her not to.

"David?"

"I'm here," he says, voice cracking from disuse, from emotion. Think of a mountain. Think of the stars, so bright and so, so far away.

"David, can you... can you come down?"

He opens his eyes and almost falls; he hadn't realized how far he'd floated off the ground. "Sorry," he says, making a controlled descent, landing softly in his lotus position on the bench.

Syd sits down beside him, obviously concerned but keeping that necessary distance. Sometimes he forgets that she's damaged, too. That she has her own burdens and probably doesn't need him to add to them. He never wanted her to see what he was: the drug addict, the lunatic who ruined everything. But she saw it all and she's still here.

"Did you have a nightmare?" she asks.

A desperate sound bubbles out of him, but it couldn't really be called a laugh. All he's ever had are nightmares. The Shadow King devoured all his dreams, sucked out their marrow.

He shrugs. "I couldn't sleep. I shouldn't have woken you up."

"I'm glad you did." She smiles, but it's tight-lipped.

He thinks of the same tight-lipped smile on Amy's face, on Philly's, on his mom's, his dad's.

Adoptive. His adoptive parents. God, even his parents aren't real. He remembers Philly accusing him of being made-up because he never had any family photos, any evidence of his existence.

"I had this crazy thought," he says, the words finding his tongue, his lips. "I know it's crazy. But I'm crazy, so--"

"David."

He stands, propelled by a nervous energy. "You'd tell me, right? If this wasn't... if this wasn't real?"

"Of course it's real."

"Because I don't feel real." He grabs at his head, as if pressing at his skull will force the jumbled pieces of his brain back together, make them fit. "None of this feels--" He tenses, twitches. If this was Clockworks, they'd already be shoving him down, jabbing in the needle. He braces for the sting, the numbing rush, but it doesn't come. Somehow that's worse.

"I promise, you're real," she says, standing now. "I promise. Babe, please, look at me."

He forces himself to open his eyes, to look at her. He can't catch his breath and it's making him dizzy. He braces a hand against a tree trunk, the bark rough under his palm. He falls against the tree, letting it hold him up.

"I guess the tree's real," he says, with whatever dark humor he can muster.

Syd gives a sad smile this time, and he closes his eyes again because it hurts to see her sad. This isn't what he wants for either of them: to repeat the same mistakes over and over, to keep hurting the people he cares about. He used to want to stop being sick so he could be normal, but right now even sickness feels so far away.

"Tell me about the crazy thought," she says. She sounds curious, not sad, and he opens his eyes.

"Um." He swallows. Breathe in, breathe out. "I don't, um." He shakes his head. Blinks.

Syd just waits patiently, her arms crossed. It's such a familiar posture from her that a sudden wave of relief makes his knees weak.

"You're real," he says, dumbly.

She gives him an even look, then sits back down on the bench. Pats the seat next to her. He takes a few wobbly steps and sits down heavily, exhausted, adrenaline-sick. He leans forward, head in his hands.

"I can't," he tries, straining for the right words. "Lenny, the parasite, Farouk -- he's gone, I know he's gone, but I don't--" He sits up, desperate. "I don't know! I don't know anything. Who I am. How to even-- What I should--" He curls his fists in frustration. "I'm so lost, Syd. There's no landmarks, nothing."

Now she does look worried. "He didn't make soup out of your brain, right?"

Is she joking? He doesn't think she's joking. "Um, no? I don't think... well, maybe." He shakes his head. "Soup?"

Syd frowns, and she is definitely worried. "Maybe Cary should take another look at your head. Or Ptonomy."

"No," David says, sick of being studied, poked, prodded. "Please, I've had enough of-- of all of that. Please."

"Okay," she says. He can see her concern, but also her acceptance. 

He wishes he could just hold her, be held by her. Sometimes it hurts so much not to touch her. Still he resists using the white room. No matter how pure and clean it looks, he can't forget the festering rot, the terror searing through him, blinding him with red--

"I can't make it stop," he gasps, tears streaming down his face. "I close my eyes and they're all I can see. Lenny, the angry boy, the demon with the yellow eyes. Even-- even my childhood dog, even that's--" He's shaking so hard it feels like he'll fall apart. "It used to make me forget, but he told me I knew everything the monster did. And now it's all coming back."

The truth. The history of his life that the Shadow King erased: every moment he was terrified and didn't know why. It's coming back and traumatizing him all over again in the Shadow King's parting revenge. Forgetting was a kindness and this is his punishment for thinking he could ever be well.

He doesn't want to remember anymore. The only thing he wants is for everything to stop hurting for a single, solitary moment. But the memories keep trickling in, little droplets forming a stream, washing away the reality of the existence he thought he knew.

Through the blur of tears, he sees Syd's black-gloved hand over her mouth, sees her visibly stopping herself from reaching out to comfort him.

"The white room," she begs. "David. Let me, please."

He doesn't want to, can't bear to go there, but he can deny her nothing. In a blink the forest is gone and he's curled up on the bed, face hot, afraid to open his eyes.

"I'm here, baby." Syd's arms wrap around him and he sobs, but this time it's relief. He clings to her, lets her soothe him, hush him. 

He needs her. He needs her so badly it shakes him to the core.

When he finally starts to calm, he realizes she's been crying too. He feels like he should apologize but he's so tired. 

He lifts his head and finally dares to look around. The white room is pure and clean, with no hint of black rot or corrupting red. He lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, then lets his head drop back against Syd's shoulder.

"Better?" she asks.

He makes a sound but it's not an answer. 

"Okay," she says, carding her fingers through his hair. "Do you want to talk to anyone?"

"Just you."

"I'm not an expert in mental health," she reminds him. "I was just another Clockworks patient."

"You're not just another anything." He meets her eyes and she smiles, not wide but free of sadness or concern. "You're the only one I trust."

"That's the least crazy thing you've said all night," she says, and this time her eyes crinkle. "David, everything you've been through, it would be crazy if you weren't a complete mess."

"Well thanks," David says, dryly.

"I mean it." She pushes up against the pillows, leans forward. "I think you're remembering because you're healing. So let yourself heal."

"Is healing supposed to hurt so much?"

"Sometimes. Sometimes the pain makes you stronger."

He shakes his head. "That doesn't make any sense." All his pain has ever done is chip away his strength, his sanity. All his pain has ever done is make him a victim. He's tired of letting his pain define him.

"I can feel him. Farouk. There's still some connection..." David sighs. "He's heading south. I'll have to tell Melanie tomorrow. We have to rescue Oliver..."

"We will," Syd promises. "We'll stop the Shadow King. And then we'll leave."

"Leave? Is that safe?"

Syd gives him a look for that. "You're the most powerful mutant in the world. What are you afraid of?"

Everything, he thinks. And nothing. And himself. He's spent all his life in hospitals, in therapy, in treatment. Does Syd actually expect him to function in the real world? Is that what she wants?

Isn't that what he wants, too?

"Okay," he says, stunned by his own agreement.

Sid's smile is wide, joyful. "Yeah?"

David rises up, grins back. "Yeah."

They'll track Farouk down, get him out of Oliver, then slay the monster for good. That's a future he can envision for himself, for the two of them. And then, well, and then _anything._ What's going to stop the most powerful mutant in the world?

He flinches as another droplet of memory returns, mixes like watercolor with the old, fractured one. It makes his breath catch in his chest. He braces against the intrusion of it, holds tight to Syd as he endures, as he hopes for healing.


End file.
